A World of Different Dimensions
by Scribbler
Summary: [one shot] Mai and Jou. Jou and Mai. It seemed fated since the beginning. It seemed like Happily Ever After. But appearances can be deceiving.


**Disclaimer:** Very little here is mine. Certainly, none of the interesting bits. 

**A/N: **I figured I hadn't written anything for Yu-Gi-Oh! in a while, and I just got a copy of the new Duellist manga, where Mai's boobs keep threatening to fall out of her top at any moment. So I blame the boobies. Title comes from a piece of electronic music by Isao Tomita, who also wrote what has become my favourite music of all time; _Ballet of the Chicks in Their Shells_. I suggest everyone find this minute-long piece and listen to it. It will improve your life.

* * *

A World of Different Dimensions

© Scribbler, February 2005

* * *

She used to love shopping. She still does, but her purchases have changed. She barely goes into the Sexpot aisle anymore. It galls her, but her wardrobe has a distinct air of beige; and she isn't _entirely_ sure, but she thinks she saw a two-piece in there the other day. It must have crawled up out of the toilet, the way her Dad used to tell her rats and snakes did. Until she was five, she made it her ritual to knock on the closed lid and tell whatever was in there that it had three seconds to go away, or else she was getting the bleach, before even _thinking_ about sitting down.

Right now, she's staring at a retina-burning window display and wondering whether she's still perky enough to carry off a top like that. She won't buy it, because it's pricey and not worth the argument she'd get when Jounouchi sees it, but it doesn't hurt to look.

She's just wondering when exactly it was she stopped liking arguments when someone calls her name. Looking up, she can't see anyone at first, and is just about to go into the bank next door when the shout comes again.

"Mai! Hey, Mai!"

Someone is pushing through the crowds and waving frantically at her. The hair's a little longer, but Anzu's dress sense hasn't improved with age or travel. Neither has complete inability to notice the stares that follow her.

"Mai! Jeez, it's been an absolute _age_."

"Anzu." Mai smiles, bemused, and shifts her bags into one hand so the other can be enthusiastically pumped up and down. "I didn't know you were back in town."

"Got a flight on spec. One of those cheap, leaves-in-three-hours, no-leg-room offers. I've actually just come from the airport." Anzu grins. Her teeth are all perfectly white and even. "Nobody knows I'm here yet. There wasn't time to call before I flew out."

"What, not even Yuugi?"

"Nope." She shrugs. "I just woke up and thought, 'Hey, I haven't seen the guys for a while', and I had some vacation owed to me, so I phoned the school, dropped by the travel agency, and here I am." She sticks out her tongue. "Well, _maybe _it was a little more complicated than that, but you get the gist of things."

Mai just smiles and nods.

"I – yeesh, rude much?" Anzu says when a teenager on a skateboard blows past. His iPod is turned up loud enough to cross the pain threshold. From the other side of his earphones. He looks a little like Honda did when they were younger. Naturally, he doesn't bellow an apology.

Mai is considering speaking again when Anzu beats her to it.

"Hey, Mai, you busy?"

"Not… really. I was just going to the bank to finish up my list of jobs." Her pause is only momentary. "But it'll keep."

"Good. And tell me my favourite coffee place is still in business. I need a large cup of extra-java goodness."

* * *

It's unusual, sitting on truly hideous orange Naugahyde booth benches in a twenty-four-hour coffee shop and eatery about a block from where they met. Dozens of cigarette burns, from the days when cigarettes were legal in Domino City restaurants, scar the edges of the wood veneer table.

This isn't the kind of place Mai would have predicted as Anzu's favourite. Anzu always struck her as cleaner-than-clean. All those speeches about undying friendship and love, faith, hope, charity, yadda yadda yadda – they don't mesh with 'The Coffee Been', where you're lucky to just find a fly in your soup.

"So," Anzu says, sliding a cardboard cup of brown liquid towards her, "what's been happening around here since I last checked in?"

Mai studies her cup critically. The lid is white plastic, with a little straw through it. "You're not seriously telling me you don't check in with Yuugi and your mother every day?"

Anzu laughs. "Well, not _every _day. A teacher's salary only goes so far on international phone calls."

"How _is_ the school?"

"Still full of expensive brats and bratlets who couldn't perform an arabesque if the world depended on it."

"You love it, don't you?"

"I do." She giggles again. "It's funny, though. I moved to America to be a professional dancer. Now I teach kids who want to move to Japan to be professional dancers. Go figure." She shrugs, sips and groans happily. "Sweet, sweet caffeine, how I have missed thee."

"Are you sure this is drinkable?"

"I don't know. It used to be. If I keel over and twitch a lot, that means it isn't anymore."

"Right. Forgive me if that doesn't fill me with confidence." Mai pushes her cup away and links her fingers under her chin, elbows propped on the table. "So spill, what's the _real_ reason you dropped in so suddenly? It's not like you to be impulsive."

"I can so be impulsive. Um, I missed the old neighbourhood?"

"Uh-huh. The smell of the trash cans, the beat of the traffic, the only-every-so-often brushes with death." Mai tips her face downward, but keeps her eyes trained on Anzu. "So this has nothing to do with Yuugi and Yami?"

Anzu pulls a face that doesn't quite mask her smirk. "Maybe just a little."

"Uh… huh."

"No, seriously. Just a little. A _very _little."

Mai raises an eyebrow.

"Wow. You really haven't changed much, have you?"

That hurts.

Anzu sweeps it away by leaning forward. "So, Mai, give me the 411. I _know _Yuugi only tells me half of what happens around here, and I don't trust Yami to tell me anything important. Not that he answers the phone very often, but… y'know." She gestures flaccidly. "And I gave up relying on my Mom for gossip when I was ten."

Mai shrugs and fiddles with her watchstrap. It's black leather, a present from Jounouchi last birthday. Its face is wide, the numbers large, easy to see, practical. The year before that he gave her lingerie. "What's to tell? Domino is Domino. The gang is the gang. Kaiba's still a bastard who refuses to mix with us commoners, Ryou still apologises too much, Honda loves his bike more than any girl, Otogi visits once in a blue moon, Shizuka's still sweet enough to give you cavities, and Bakura's…"

"Bakura?"

"If you can think of a better way to describe that guy, then be my guest."

Anzu sighs and pushes hair from her face. "I can think of a few choice words, but we're in public. So how are you and Jou?"

"We're fine."

"Is he still working at Bodori?"

"Advertising division. He got promoted last March."

"That's great news! See, now why didn't Yuugi tell me that?"

Maybe because Jounouchi never intended to stay there. Bodori Publishing had been to tide them over until he figured out what he really wanted to do with his life. Being expert duellists is one thing, but you can't really support a household on it. Mai knows. She tried. And there'd only been her to worry about back then.

Duel Monsters is fading out now. There are hardly any big tournaments anymore, and even fewer that have prize money.

"So where do _you_ work now?" Anzu asks, swirling a sachet of brown sugar into her coffee. She sucks on the little white stirrer and looks at Mai expectantly.

"I'm a secretary," Mai answers truthfully.

"Really? Wait, sorry, that was rude."

"Don't be sorry. It's really crap, and I hate it, but I'm not exactly brimming over with qualifications to get something better."

"Aheh." Anzu makes an embarrassed noise anyway.

Mai sighs and leans back with her hands in her lap. "I'm taking classes at night school right now. Going to get my ass out of that job if it kills me."

"That's the spirit." For a second, Anzu's posture threatens one of her famous Positive Thinking speeches. Then she takes a glug of coffee and her shoulders lose their patronising set. She smacks her lips. "That's some gooooood coffee."

"Here." Mai pushes hers further towards her. "I have my cell ready if you need an ambulance."

"Ha ha." She reaches for another sugar sachet.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, Mai realised that Jounouchi is comfortable. Maybe not consciously, and maybe she chooses not to think about it a lot of the time, but it's still there. Jou is a nice house, suburbia, old slippers and reality TV. She's known him for almost a decade now. There's no man she is, or has ever been closer to. Even her no account father.

And maybe … just maybe… that's the problem.

* * *

"Oh, that dress is just _gorgeous_!"

The quick coffee has become an extended shopping trip. Anzu likes to visit all the stores Mai has forgotten about, and croon about things like a high school girl with her first paycheque. Looking at her, you'd never know she moved to another country and lived alone in New York, a city with the highest unsolved murder ratio in America.

"Mai, look here. Isn't it gorgeous?"

Mai looks. "It's puce."

"But nice puce."

"There's no such thing as nice puce."

Anzu pulls at her left lower eyelid. "I say there is. So nyeh."

"Very mature."

"Mature is overrated."

* * *

"You will give me your honest opinion, right?"

"How honest do you want?"

"Honest enough to tell me not to waste my money without bruising my fragile ego."

"Hrrumph." Mai folds her arms and blows hair from her face. It's coming loose from its chignon, and she doesn't have a comb with her.

It's been three and a half hours since Anzu flagged her down, and she still hasn't made any attempt to seek out Yuugi and Yami. Or even her own mother. That might be a little more bizarre, were Mai not quite so pleased at the company. She'd almost forgotten what it's like to go on a shopping spree with a girlfriend. Anzu may not be the candidate she'd have picked, but… the afternoon hasn't been an entire nightmare – puce dresses aside.

After an age, Anzu emerges from the changing room. "How do I look? And be brutally honest."

Mai studies her. "You look… nice."

"Could you _be _any more insincere?" Anzu glances down at herself – baggy cargo pants, pink tee shirt, wide belt with a butterfly insignia – and screws up her mouth. "I feel like I'm trying to regain my misbegotten youth."

"You're only in your twenties!"

"I know. I just… feel a lot older than that." She smiles, and for the first time that afternoon it isn't frivolous and childlike. There are lines around her eyes that shouldn't be there in the store's soft lighting.

Mai wonders how many lines _she _has.

"Does this mean I can get away without making any catty comments?"

"You can be catty next time."

"Meow."

* * *

The clock tower tolls the hour.

"Is it that late already?" Anzu shades her eyes to look. "Jeez, I need to find a hotel for the night. And a phone."

"You can stay at our place, if you like," Mai offers, aware the 'hotel' would probably end up being Yuugi's store anyway. Sugoroku only takes the odd shift these days, and it's turning over a tidy enough profit that he doesn't grumble too much about the way Yuugi runs things.

To her surprise, Anzu looks genuinely grateful for the offer. "Really? That'd be fantastic. I really don't fancy looking for a place within my budget this late in the day."

"Er… you're welcome. But aren't you going to visit Yuugi's place first?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? I thought you two were inseparable."

She snorts. "You should talk."

"I should?"

"You and Jou. Talk about inseparable."

Mai's habitual smirk freezes in place. "Yeah."

Something in her voice must have given it away, because Anzu stops and turns. "Mai?"

"Hm?"

"Are… are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Only…"

"Only what?"

"You don't _sound _fine."

"Hm." Mai presses the button at the pelican crossing. They wait for the little green man to flash up. Cars whiz by – little bits and pieces of other people's lives boxed in glass and coloured metal. "Really, I'm fine. Just a little tired. I'm not used to big shopping trips anymore."

Anzu's eyebrows jump for her hairline. "Now _that's_ something I thought I'd never hear. The way you used to drag Jou around all those shoe stores…"

"Yeah."

"You know he used to hide at Honda's when the January sales started?"

"I know. I found him there."

"Ah. Was there much kicking and screaming?"

"Bratty toddlers had nothing on him."

The green man appears and they cross without fear of becoming road-kill.

"Hey," Anzu says after a few minutes of silence, "want to get takeout? My treat."

"I thought you were low on funds."

"I already bought my return ticket. And since you're putting me up for the night, I can stretch to a few boxes of Ling-foo's Chinese Delights. Provided it's still open. Is it still open?"

Mai blinks. She used to go to the place all the time. It's just down the street from her old apartment, with prices to compliment the student housing of the neighbouring four blocks. Ling-foo is a grizzled old man from Beijing, whose daughter was a teacher at Number Eleven Middle School during the 1960s' Cultural Revolution. When the Red Guard came to burn all books not written by Chairman Mao, Ling-foo's daughter was forced to help carry them from the library and then kneel in a line beside her colleagues, the crown of her head almost touching the bonfire as a 'trial' to test her purity and allegiance to China. Ling-foo saw her on television, saw the welts and burns and lash-marks she bore afterwards. Whenever he told the story he always wept bitter tears, no matter whom he was telling it to.

Mai hasn't thought about it him or his restaurant in years.

"I don't know. Why don't we find out?"

* * *

"Now this? This is superior cuisine." Anzu brandishes the plastic bag full of pots and condensation. "You can keep your maki and ramen and California rolls – and yes, even your hotdogs with mustard and mayo. Ling-foo's chow-mein is food of the gods."

Mai indicates and turns the corner towards the apartment she and Jounouchi share. "You've been saying that for the past three streets."

"I can't help it. If I stop talking I'll drool all over your upholstery."

"Do you measure your life in mealtimes or something?"

"I'm just very appreciative of the finer things in life."

"Ling-foo's is a 'finer thing'?"

"It is if you've been living off Pot Noodles and powdered milk for a while."

"Pot Noodles? Aren't those the things that were linked to - "

"Yeah. Some of the chemicals in them have been linked to cancer. Boy, doesn't that make me feel great?" Anzu leans her head back and stares at the ceiling. "Didn't you used to have a convertible?"

"Uh-huh. This was more economical on fuel."

"When did _you _get so practical?"

They brake to let some pedestrians cross the street. Not one of them says thank you.

"Does that surprise you?" Mai deflects with a question.

"Well, actually… yeah." Still leaning backwards, Anzu tips her head and looks squarely at her. "I don't know if it's just me being out of the loop for a while, but you seem a lot more … together than when I saw you last. When was that, anyway?"

"Christmas at Yuugi's, I think."

"Oh yeah. When dinner-duty Honda forgot to get up early and tried to cook the turkey in the microwave."

Mai nods, but says nothing.

They pull up outside the apartment building. She kills the engine and hunts around in the glove compartment for a residency sticker so she won't get wheel-clamped while she sleeps. Anzu yips and hops out to make room. The car may be fuel-economical, but it isn't exactly spacious.

Mai's key rattles in the lock. The apartment is dark when they go in, the air close. The central heating was on timer and warmed it up while they were out.

"Jou must be working late," she says, flipping switches and enjoying the way the lights chase the shadows back and back. "We'll have to save him something. Chow-mein's reheatable, right?"

"The noodles are."

"That'll do."

* * *

Mai sits poking her noodles with chopsticks while Anzu talks on the phone with her mother. It's after six, so calls within a forty mile radius are free on their network and Mai doesn't mind letting her tie up the line. Truth be told, she's actually semi-pleased she hasn't come home to an empty apartment. Anzu brings some spark of life to the place that she hadn't even realised it was missing, and it makes her wonder when was the last time they had people over for more than just dinner.

"No, seriously," Anzu says in the other room, "I'm here for the week. Myfanwy's covering me, and most of my classes are out anyway since the older kids took their exams. What? Myfanwy. _Myfanway_. It's welsh. You know, that little bit of country tacked on the side of Britain. You _know_. Oh – do you have an atlas?"

Mai hasn't spoken to her mother in years. Doesn't want to, either. There's too much history there.

There's a photograph on the wall of when she won her first duelling contest and got her picture in the paper. She went down the next day and got a colour copy from the main offices. Her hair is wild, her skirt micro, and there's a cut above her left perfectly-plucked brow she didn't feel until the blood ran into her eye.

Anzu comes back in a few minutes later, smiling brightly. "I'm meeting up with her for coffee tomorrow."

"Not that undrinkable stuff again?"

"Hey, I can't help it if you have a weak constitution." She runs a hand through her hair. For someone who claims to suffer from jetlag, she's coping remarkably well with the time difference. "I don't like to stay with her if I can help it. New boyfriend. I think I scared the last one off."

"You?" Mai doesn't muster much in the way of conviction. Anzu is possibly the least threatening person she's ever met.

"She was lying about her age – as usual. Then I turned up and introduced myself as her daughter. You couldn't see him for dust. Either he didn't like _older_ older women, or he thought she was about thirteen when she had me."

Mai pokes a piece of chicken, drops it, and picks it up again. "So how's Yuugi?" she asks between chews.

"Dunno," Anzu replies. "He wasn't in. I left a message on his answer phone, though I don't hold out too much hope for a reply. Unless he's got better at checking his messages."

"Nu-uh."

"Thought as much." She hunts around, lifting boxes and shifting aside a couple of books from Mai's night course without asking. "Where'd the soy sauce go?"

"Here." Mai tosses a small sachet. "Think fast."

Anzu fumbles and it falls to the floor.

"Too slow."

"Very funny."

Mai fills her mouth again. The sound of eating fills the air for several minutes, as Anzu folds her legs under her and tucks in. The television is only a couple of feet away, but they leave it switched off. It's odd not to have it blaring in the background.

When her box is two-thirds gone, Mai stops and clicks her chopsticks together. Anzu looks up.

"Hm?" she says, noodles hanging from her lips. She slurps them up noisily.

"I should really be doing some work," Mai says. "I have an essay due in a few days."

"Don't let me stop you." Anzu reaches for her drink. "I can get on with something else. The least I can do while you let me stay here is not get in your way while you do important studenty stuff."

"I don't want you to do something else," Mai says quietly.

"What was that?"

"I … nothing."

Anzu pauses, then shrugs and carries on eating. "Do you reckon Jou will be surprised when he gets home and I'm here? Like some horrible ghost from his past come back to haunt him."

Mai says nothing.

"Maybe I should wait behind the door. Jump out and scare the bejeezus out of him when he walks in. I was always the one who dressed up as a ghost on Halloween, so I have mucho experience in the field. And he always screamed like a girl whenever I got him." Her lips form a small smile of recollection.

The strangled noise is tiny, like a bird hitting a car windshield. If the television were on, it would be lost in the white noise.

Anzu stops and looks up. "Mai? Are you … crying?"

Mai wipes at her eyes with the heel of her hand. It comes back wet. Oh, so she is. How nice. Now all her make-up is running and her nose is getting red and drippy. "Oh." It's the word of a million uses. And says absolutely nothing.

Anzu is crawling around to her side of the table before she can register the movement. "Mai, what's wrong?" she asks gently, all humour gone from her voice. It's her Best Friend voice. She used to use it when Yuugi was stressing about something ancient and Egyptian, or when Jounouchi was in a funk.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Yeah, that's why you're crying."

"I'm just being hormonal. I think I forgot to take my evening primrose oil this morning. I'll get over it."

Anzu sits back on her heels. Mai isn't looking at her expression because she gets the feeling she won't like it. She's proven right when Anzu speaks again.

"You've been acting weird all afternoon. Mai, no jokes now. What's up?"

"The ceiling."

"Seriously - "

"Look, I'm fine." She gets up and goes into the kitchen to rattle some plates that she left in the sink this morning. She doesn't clear away her takeout box, but neither does she feel like eating any more. Her appetite is all up in smoke.

It takes a few minutes, but Anzu eventually follows. She stands in the doorway behind Mai, not fully entering the room. The kitchen is tiny and square, though. She'd have to stand on the other side of the other room not to encroach on personal space right now.

"Is it something I said?"

"It's not you."

"What is it, then?"

"I told you. It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing to me."

"Look, I told you, I'm _fine_. Just leave it." Mai's voice takes on a sharp edge. She sounds almost like she did ten years ago.

Minutes pass. Then hesitant footsteps cross the tiles and come to a stop by Mai's left arm. "Something," Anzu says softly, "is bothering you. You can snap at me all you want, but I noticed it the moment we hooked up today. I just didn't say anything because I figured it wasn't my place. Now you're getting all pissy with me and pretending you're _not _blubbing into your chow-mein in what is possibly the _worst _cover-up I've ever seen in my life. And I grew up with Yuugi, the original Mr. Silent Victim." She swallows and asks, "Is it Jou?"

"What makes you say that?" Mai's voice is still sharp as broken glass.

"You getting all defensive, for one thing."

"It's not Jou."

"Then what is it? And please, credit me with a little more integrity than you're about to. This is _me_ we're talking about, Mai. Anzu Mazaki. Most likely to grow up and become a Camp Friendship director, or write stirring political speeches on the power of working together."

Mai's mouth clicks shut. She stares at a crusty bowl she used for heating tinned baked beans last night. The sauce flakes away under her fingernails when she scratches at it. She wonders why it's harder to get rid of than to put on.

"It's not Jou," she says again. "But … it is."

"Huh?"

"I love him."

"Is there something wrong with him?"

"No. He's healthy as a horse, and still as loyal and honest and devoted to people as he always was. You should see him when Shizuka comes over. He's like a little kid again, watching over her, making sure her latest boyfriend measures up to his standards. He still rags on Otogi and Honda if they so much as give her a sideways glance."

"But that's good, right? Those are positive things."

Mai sighs. She turns on the cold tap. In a few seconds her hands are going numb. "Yeah. But he's also lazy. He never cleans up after himself. I don't either. It takes considerable effort for either of us to pick up a vacuum cleaner, let alone a duster. It wasn't my turn to, but I _had_ to change the bed sheets yesterday, if only because it was like sleeping on a layer of broken potato chips."

"And that makes you mad?"

"A little. Not much. I guess I'm used to it by now. It doesn't bother me, the laziness."

"I don't get it." Anzu shakes her head. "So why are you crying? Is there … is there someone else?"

"What? No!"

"Hey, just asking!" She raises her hands, palms outward. "You've got to admit, it's a logical conclusion."

"There's … nobody else." Mai blinks profusely. "There's never been anyone else. We … I married Jounouchi because I love him. I never thought about settling down before I met him, but it's easy to make a decision like that when you love someone. It was pretty straightforward, really – boy meets girl, girl meets boy, boy and girl occasionally get possessed by evil spirits and almost die in front of each other while fighting the forces of darkness." A small, bitter laugh percolates in her throat. "He loves me, too. Proved it enough times. Granted, he was a bit thickheaded about it at first, but y'know – he's male. You can't expect miracles. And he _did _get there in the end. I know I'm not the least fucked-up person in the world, but … it was still easy to say yes."

"So you're in love with him. That's good. That's better than … that's good."

And Mai just shakes her head sadly. "No. But I love him."

Anzu opens her mouth, but her words turn into a little gasp of understanding. "Oh. Oh, Mai." She makes a funny clucking noise in the back of her throat, not for any reason other than she suddenly understands and can't think what to say.

Mai thinks she should feel more victorious at that. There was a time she would have loved scoring points over Anzu. But now all she can do is stare into her white enamel sink and watch old tomato sauce wash down the plughole.

* * *

The door bangs open. "I'm home!" Jou calls loudly, clattering his keys to unstick them from the lock. "Mai? Is that takeout I smell?"

He goes straight to the kitchen.

"Mai? You in here?"

Silence.

The dishes have been washed and put on the draining board. One of these days, he'd like to buy a dishwasher to make their lives easier, but their combined salary won't stretch to it. Still, as long as there's no mould on the plates he's content to carry on as they are.

He goes into the sitting room and stops.

Mai and Anzu are sat next to each other on the giant beanbag-couch-substitute. They're sound asleep. Mai's head is resting on Anzu's shoulder, cheek waffled, and there's something so endearing and innocent about the scene that the urge to say "Awww" competes with surprise at Anzu's presence there. Shouldn't she be in America, instead of making with the jetlag in their sitting room?

Deciding not to wake them just yet, Jou steps around the beanbag to where the scent of takeout is strongest. There are boxes of Chinese food stacked neatly in one corner of the table. Mai's textbooks and notepaper are in the other corner, piled from big to small like a mountain. He frowns at it – Mai has never been a neat freak – but shrugs it off, picks up a box and returns to the kitchen. He figures he can get the 411 when they wake up. Maybe he should get out his old camera and take pictures of them as payback for that noodle-bomb prank the last time Anzu was in Domino.

On the way out, he passes a photograph on the wall that he's seen so many times he doesn't bother to look at it anymore. It's a photo of Mai after she won her first duelling contest. Her hair is wild around her face. It's never seen a chignon. Her clothes are bright purple and straight from the Sexpot aisle – about as far from a beige two-piece as you can get. And there's a cut above her eye that she's smiling too hard to even notice.

* * *

FINIS.

* * *


End file.
